


Cry: Part II

by Akoya8



Series: Birthday One-Word Prompts [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Masturbation, Older Man/Younger Woman, Prostitution, Replacement sex, Revenge Plot, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1886451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akoya8/pseuds/Akoya8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr is out looking for a redheaded whore to satisfy his needs, and he comes across Alayne's corner. She's too tempting an offer to pass up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cry: Part II

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire; it belongs to GRRM. 
> 
> Author’s Note: This is the fifteenth fic in my one-word prompt series. It is also a continuation of my AU Petyr/Sansa pairing fic, “Cry.” Gird your loins, mature content lies ahead. Be warned, this fic also includes elements of the sex trade. If prostitution makes you uncomfortable, please walk away. 
> 
> P.S. A friend made the banner for me. Check out her stuff on deviantart.com if you want. Search StarcrossedScientist

He had been away when it happened, far away, across the world in another country. The networks there barely covered it; to them, the Starks were just another self-important Westerosi family that had it coming. He, on the other hand, felt his come crashing down. Cat was dead, forever out of his reach, and her family with her.

All dead, except for Sansa, possibly Arya as well, but Petyr Baelish didn’t deal in uncertainties. So, he’d focused his efforts on finding Sansa, but to no avail. The girl had quite simply disappeared without a trace. Someone, or several people, had been effective in erasing her existence to the point where photos of her became impossible to find. He had been fortunate to lay his hands on a childhood photograph. Sansa couldn’t have been more than three or four in it, but her hair shone fire-bright, and her eyes were the icy-blue of the Northmen from whom she was descended. However, it was fifteen years out of date, and the trail had gone cold months ago. Sansa Stark, if she still lived, had been swallowed up into anonymity somewhere.

Still, he couldn’t shake the need to find her, Cat’s daughter, and…Well, this was one of those rare situations where he hadn’t hammered out all the specifics. If he managed to find her, the rest would fall into place.

In the meantime, Petyr occupied himself with the mystery surrounding the deaths of the Starks. Only one man stood to gain from the death of Ned Stark, and that man was Tywin Lannister. It could just be a coincidence that the majority of Stark company stock had been bought up by Lannister. However, as cruel as Lannister was, he operated with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. Ned Stark’s death had been the only one necessary, so what had been the reason behind the needless slaughter of his family, of Cat?

He dug deeper, using what contacts and methods he could without arousing suspicion. Petyr’s first break came in the form of a news report that had been yanked shortly after it had aired. Lannister had, apparently, pulled out all the stops to purge its existence from the internet, but Petyr’s reach extended very far, and soon he his hands clenched around a DVD.

When he watched it and saw the Mountain, he knew that the massacre went beyond business for it stank of something personal. He trawled through bank and tax records, thinking that if he followed the money, the answer would appear. His efforts were fruitless, and he had been ready to give up when an article in a society magazine caught his attention: “Stark Daughter Dating Lannister Prince.” It was a small blurb about the match, hardly worth noticing, but it made Petyr consider something he had previously overlooked: Joffrey Baratheon.

He’d only met the boy a few times, but each time he had, there had been something unsettling lurking behind his bright blue eyes. That ‘something’ drove Petyr to look. Joffrey Baratheon was studying abroad, had been since the murders, and the Mountain was in Africa, no doubt wreaking havoc among the locals while providing muscle for Tywin’s mining operations.

Finally, he had all the proof he needed to put the story together: Joffrey Baratheon had snapped, for reasons unknown, and he had set a Lannister dog on the unsuspecting Stark family. Tywin had covered it up and managed to profit from the debacle. Months of work culminated in a truth that was devastating: Cat had been murdered for no reason at all; it was a senseless death, perpetrated without reason and with extreme prejudice.

So, he set out to the only thing he could: Tywin Lannister and his family would reap the consequences of their actions; he would see them brought low before he killed them. Perhaps then, Sansa would reveal herself and he could…do something.

Petyr began slowly, one did not dismantle an empire overnight, and the task consumed him. He resorted to activities he had not indulged in for some time, liquor and whores. He drank to excess, reveling in the loose-limbed feeling provided by the alcohol, and the whores…it was a proclivity he assigned to one night of the month. On those nights, he would travel down to Flea Bottom because he dared not frequent on of his own establishments, and he would select one of the numerous redheaded whores available for hire.

Most, if not all of them, were bottle reds, but their clothes never came off, he didn’t want to spoil the illusion. For months, his only sexual activity was a blowjob (always with protection) from some nameless whore, and he never repeated his choice.

That night, he was out searching for another whore to fulfill his needs, another unenthusiastic mouth giving him a joyless distraction. So far, Petyr was unsatisfied by the night’s offerings and was ready to retreat when he saw her.

She was standing beneath a streetlight, hair blazing, even in that dim lighting. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, pressing what heat she could into her body. She was dressed conservatively for a whore, which gave him a moment of doubt, but surely she would be aware of what her presence on this corner signified.

He decided to chance it, even from a distance, she was too lovely to pass up. Petyr pulled up next to her and eyed her one last time before making his decision and rolling the passenger window down, “How much?”

A standard question, but it seemed to throw her, and her reply was slightly stammered out, “One-one hundred for the hour, fifty for the half, and thirty for a blowjob.”

Petyr considered the prices for a few seconds before answering, “Agreed.”

He unlocked the passenger door and waited for her to climb in; she did so with a surprising amount trepidation. Most whores would have scrambled into his car, the lure of money and warmth too tempting to refuse. She finally entered the vehicle and settled herself against the leather seat, appearing gratified by the texture of the leather.

Her guarded expression dropped, and, for a moment, she looked very young indeed, too young to be in this business. But, Petyr Baelish was not one to quibble over morality; she was old enough.

“What’s your name?” He’d never cared before, but there was something about her, she was…different.

“A-Alayne.”

By the look on her face, the name was clearly a false one, but he rolled it around his tongue, tasting its texture, “Alayne?”

She nodded, dedicated to the deception, “Yeah, Alayne.”

Very well, he’d play along. He smiled, “Alayne, call me Petyr.”

* * *

 

 

They drove in silence to a motel, one that bordered Flea Bottom. When they reached their destination, Petyr paid for the room in cash, purchasing several hours of time from the manager. This was unusual; he was breaking his pattern. He never took the whores anywhere but the front seat of his car because he preferred to keep the proceedings short.

But gods, something about her had him wanting more than a quick blowjob in his front seat. Petyr wanted to take his time with her, wanted to explore every inch of what he was sure was a lovely body.

They got to the room and he ushered her inside, locking the door as he followed behind her. She looked nervous and uncertain standing in the middle of the room, shyly tucking her hair behind her ear. And while he was neither nervous, nor uncertain, he was surprised by the need he felt welling up within him.

“How many men have you had today?”

The question startled her out of her thoughts, “What? Um…none?”

Her answer made him smirk, “You don’t know? My, that is strange.”

She ducked her head, “Sorry, that just surprised me. Johns—I mean clients, normally don’t ask. But, it’s the truth. I’ve had a slow day, I’m not exactly…popular.”

Now, that had to be a lie; how could any man resist her?

“This is business, Alayne, an exchange of money for services. You don’t need to lie to me.”

Alayne blushed, gods, a whore who could still blush! She must be very new to this profession.

“Look, it’s not like I understand it. I mean, I don’t dress the part because I think freezing out there is stupid, and I don’t have regulars. The other girls are nice to me, well, they tolerate me, but I don’t think they’ve been sabotaging me…it’s just been a slow day!” She sounded defensive, and much too intelligent. What a mystery she was turning out to be.

“Still, you won’t be offended if I ask you to shower, will you? It will give you a chance to warm up while getting clean.”

She shook her head and moved towards the bathroom, clutching her small purse to her body. He called after her, “No need to cart the purse with you, my dear, I’m no thief,” delighting in the way she set her shoulders and ignored him. A real mystery indeed.

Once she was in the shower, Petyr was at a loss to find something to do while he waited. That was a novelty, the waiting. Nights such as this were not meant for such a passive activity, and if this were a ‘normal’ night, he would be done with the whore already.

So, for the lack of something better to do, he contemplated the woman in the shower. She was barely old enough to be called a woman, but her eyes told him that her life should be measured in experience, not years. Petyr had come to expect the haunted eyes, product of their profession, but he had the irrational feeling that she didn’t get those eyes from fucking strangers for a living.

Alayne was a curiosity, on that, given time, he would like to explore. However, he had mere hours with her, and he hadn’t been properly fucked in a long time.

The bathroom door opening brought him back to the present, and Alayne stepped into the room wearing nothing but the towel from the shower; he noted that her hair was still dry. Her shower had been perfunctory and rushed. They eyed each other in silence, each on measuring up the other.

Petyr gleaned that while she was a whore, she was uncomfortable being naked in the presence of a client. He was unused to caring about other people, let alone whores, but he also wanted their encounter to be more than cock in cunt, thrusting away to oblivion.

“That was rather expedient of you,” he gestured towards the towel, “but, I had a mind to take off your clothes myself. Now you leave me in the awkward position of undressing alone.” She blushed again, gods, what a treat!

“I’m sorry!” The words were squeaked out. “I could put my clothes on again if you wanted, I—”

“No, no, my dear, I was only teasing. You look rather distraught over the whole thing, and for that, I apologize.” They would spend more time talking than fucking at this rate, but he wanted her willing. Actually, if he were being honest with himself, he wanted her to be more than willing; he wanted her to be participatory.

Alayne nodded, accepting his apology, then made a sweeping gesture towards his body, “D’you want me to…” Her question trailed off and she cast her eyes downward. Petyr waited for her to look up before pointedly catching her eye and removing his suit coat. He watched her eyes dart away again, then they returned, apparently captivated by his hands unbuttoning his waistcoat.

“This situation is unusual for you, isn’t it?”

The sound of his voice made her jump, “Wha-what do you mean?”

“Well, it seems that despite your profession, you’re not accustomed to seeing a man undress in front of you for the purpose of sex. How long have you been doing this?” His gaze was sharp while hers faltered.

“A-a year.”

Another lie, but he would let it slide for the moment. “A whole year, you say. You must have fucked dozens, if not hundreds of men, and still so shy. Ah, but I forgot, you said you were unpopular. Does that mean you are diseased and simply withholding the information from me?”

“No!”

Her denial was immediate and defensive, and he could see her hackles going up. She had a great deal of spirit for a whore, but everything about her was proving to be different from the norms that he was used to. Petyr decided to probe further and momentarily abandoned the act of undressing, “‘No,’ as in you’re not diseased, or ‘no,’ you’ve not fucked hundreds of men?”

“Both!”

“Color me shocked, Alayne,” he purred out and stalked closer to her. Her hands tightened around her towel as if she feared that he would rip it from her body.

“So, you’re an inexperienced whore. No wonder you sell yourself so cheaply.” It was a low blow, meant to hurt, but he wanted to see how she reacted to his insults.

She drew back her hand to strike him, but he had her wrist in his hand before she could land the blow. Petyr pulled her in close, admiring her as she forgot to hold the towel up during her struggle. Her naked body was flush against his clothed one, but he could feel her heat through the fabric.

Gods, she was glorious. Her cheeks were red with anger and her breasts heaved with every breath. He leaned in close to her face, she was too angry to flinch backwards, and she stared at him with defiant eyes.

His eyes were locked with hers and his breath whispered out over her lips as he spoke, “Never fear, Alayne, your inexperience delights me, and I shall do my utmost to rid you of some of it. I daresay that it will prove pleasurable for both of us.”

Defiance turned to doubt, and she made to protest his confidence. Petyr covered her lips with his, preventing her from speaking. She renewed her struggle, and it took him a second to realize why: there was an unspoken rule about kissing, and he had carelessly broken it. However, the milk had been spilled, and he would enjoy himself while he could. To forestall another attempt to hit him, he used his free hand to pin her other arm to her side.

He ran his tongue across the seam of her lips; she glared at him and refused to open her mouth. Not removing his lips, and daring to risk a blow, he removed his hand from her arm and raised it to her breast, pinching a nipple. When she opened her mouth to shriek, he invaded.

Petyr ruthlessly took her mouth, sliding his tongue against hers, retreating to bite her lower lip then sucking at it lightly. At last, he raised his head from hers, feeling extremely pleased with himself. This time, her other hand moved before he could stop it and the sound of the slap echoed in the stillness of the room.

He released the wrist he still held and backed away, rubbing at his sore cheek. “Does that mean you didn’t like it, my dear?”

Alayne was shaking with rage, “Do that again without my permission and I walk, money or no money.”

Petyr inclined his head in agreement, “As you wish, but do I have permission to kiss the rest of you? This evening will be dreadfully dull if you deny me that.”

Her anger left her abruptly and was replaced by shock, “Why would anyone—why would you want to do that?”

She sounded scandalized, and he felt a genuine grin stretch across his face, “My dear Alayne, your naïveté regarding sexual acts is astounding. Therefore, I propose that you allow me to touch you in whatever way I desire, and in return—” Petyr had to raise his voice to be heard over her squawks of protest, “In return, I will pay triple your hourly rate.”

That brought her up short, and she gave him a calculated stare, “How long did you rent the room for?”

“Five hours.”

She couldn’t suppress her scoff, “In my experience, men can barely last the half-hour they pay for, and you’re telling me that you can go for five? Unbelievable.”

“We’re down to four and a half hours now, what with your shower and our squabbling, but I think you’ll be more than satisfied with my performance.”

Alayne considered his offer for a full three minutes (he counted every second, concerned that she would refuse) then nodded in agreement. She curtailed his silent victory with a raised hand, “Condition one: you pay me now, in full; condition two: you pay for the cab to take me back; condition three: no kissing on the mouth unless I say so. Can you live with that?”

In response, Petyr reached for his wallet, pulling out some cash. He carefully counted out 1500 and set it on the table near Alayne. He watched as she double-checked the amount and ducked into the bathroom to tuck it away in her purse. When she emerged, she asked, “And my other two conditions?”

“Are perfectly fine with me.”

“Good.”

“Quite; now, where was I? Ah, yes.” Petyr resumed undressing, loosening his tie, removing it, and then unbuttoning his shirt. He suffered a small bout of insecurity regarding his scar; it was an ugly thing, but a necessary reminder. Would it disgust her, like it had so many others? Oh well, it was too late for false modesty. He stripped the shirt off, quickly dispensing of the cufflinks as he did, and reached for his belt.

As he was unbuckling the belt, he chanced a look at her from beneath his lashes: she was staring at the scar, of course she bloody was! Petyr lowered his zipper then met her eyes; she blushed.

It would be best to get this over with sooner rather than later, “Hideous, isn’t it?”

To her credit, she did not disagree with him, “How—how did you—”

“It is a long and boring tale; the short version is that I lost the fight. Does it frighten you?” Alayne shook her head, “I’ve seen worse.”

He leveled a skeptical look at her and she rushed to reassure him, “Really, I have! I knew a man once, half his face was eaten away by some kind of burn scar…now _he_ was terrifying.”

There was only one man that fit that description in King’s Landing that he knew of, Sandor Clegane, another Lannister dog. Perhaps an occasional client of hers? Petyr hummed a reply as he pushed down his trousers and boxers in one go, “As long as you’re sure, my dear; I would hate for you to be put off.”

Once he had stepped out of his shoes, trousers, and boxers, and had peeled off his socks, he was as naked as Alayne. He let her look her fill, taking in the way her gaze lingered on his cock. Even half-erect, it was nothing to sneer at, and he was confident that she would have more than one orgasm at the end of it before their time was up.

Petyr turned towards the bed, pulling the coverlet and sheets back, calling to her as he did, “I’ll just start the festivities on my own, feel free to join me at your leisure.”

He settled himself against the headboard and waited for her eyes to meet his, once they did, he began to stroke his cock. He kept the strokes long and slow, his goal was to arouse, not finish early. She watched the movement of his hand avidly.

“Have you ever seen a man do this, stroke his cock?” She shook her head.

“Hmm…well, what do you think?” Her face turned red, but she managed to answer, “It looks like it feels good.”

Petyr nodded and let out a small groan for her benefit, “Yes, it does feel good, very good. Do you do this to yourself? Get off after a day of being unsatisfied by your customers?”

“No! Yes! Well, sometimes.”

“No, yes, sometimes. Care to make this one of those ‘sometimes,’ Alayne?” She was breathing heavily, he could hear it across the room, and her eyes were fever bright. That hadn’t taken her very long; she must fuck nothing but idiots if she’d never had a single orgasm from any of them…or maybe she had.

He was possessed by the sudden urge to know, “Any of your clients make you come before with their hands, cocks, or mouths?”

“N-no!”

“To which?”

“All of them!”

He bit back a curse; gods, whore or not, she was practically a virgin! Petyr was suddenly concerned that he might not last for the next several hours; the need to make her come as many times as possible might kill him. He stopped stroking his cock and let his breathing even out; she looked a little disappointed. Good.

“I want you to come here, Alayne, and get on the bed.” She did so uncertainly.

“I want you to touch yourself; I want you to get yourself off, right now. You know what you like. Show me.”

Alayne rose up on her knees, affording him an impeccable view of her body: perfect breasts with mouth-watering nipples, a long torso that tapered down to round hips, and a thatch of red hair at the apex of her thighs. Gods, she was a natural redhead! He fought the urge to bury his face there and eat her until she screamed for mercy.

Petyr watched, fascinated, as one of her hands rose to her breast, slowly circling the nipple before tweaking it. She threw back her head and gave a small gasp; Petyr felt his cock twitch at the sound. Hopefully, she wouldn’t tease him for too long, or else his first orgasm of the night would be sprayed against his chest.

Alayne let her other hand join the first in touching her breasts and her hips shifted a little; her cunt was probably starting to ache. Even though he felt a similar ache, he refused to touch his cock until she worked her nimble fingers down to her cunt. Perhaps he could get her to speed up the proceedings, “Alayne, I don’t mean to interrupt, but if you wouldn’t mind burying a couple fingers in your cunt, I would be grateful, very grateful.”

Her breath caught on another gasp as she pinched her nipples and pulled on them, “I-I thought I was in charge of this part, since I know what I like.”

He conceded that to her with a nod, but decided to argue the point anyway, “Yes, well, I thought I might rush you just a bit. I want to see what you look like when you come.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Hmm…I guess I could consider your request; you are paying me after all.” She ran a hand down her chest and belly, threading her fingers through the wiry hair guarding her cunt.

Petyr felt his breathing speed back up, “Please, don’t let such a technicality stand in your way.”

Alayne gave him a small grin; he was pleased to see that some of her inhibition had fallen away. “Well, seeing as I’m already here, I might as well…”

She dipped a single finger into her heat, sinking it down to the first knuckle before drawing back. Petyr felt a twinge of frustration; he wanted to see her! “Alayne, perhaps you could indulge me one last time? Spread your pretty cunt for me; I want to see you fuck yourself with your fingers.”

She obliged him without complaint, abandoning her breast and spreading herself for him. From his position against the headboard, he could see her finger moving in and out of her cunt now, and her clit was beginning to peek out from under its hood. His mouth went dry at the sight, and he licked his lips; she saw the movement and groaned low in her throat.

Her groan had him grasping his cock and giving it a hard tug. “Yes, that’s it, my dear. That is perfect.” Petyr matched his strokes to hers, exulting in the sounds her finger made slipping through her juices. He thought she might be close, her breaths were getting shorter, and she inserted another finger into her cunt. He slowed his strokes before stopping entirely.

“Alayne, are you close?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you need?”

“My—ah!—my clit!”

“May I?”

“Yes!”

Petyr surprised them both by leaning forward and licking a broad stripe up her cunt, then circling her clit. She screamed and her fingers stopped moving.

“No,” he growled into her cunt, “don’t stop!”

Barely breathing, she complied; her other hand left her cunt and threaded into his hair, holding his head to her. He kept licking her, slurping around her moving fingers, raking his teeth across her clit.

Alayne almost collapsed and he pulled back slightly, ignoring her protests and grasping hand, “We need to move.”

“No! No, I’m so—”

“I know, but you need something behind you.”

She made a moue of protest, and he bit her thigh. That galvanized her into action. She withdrew her fingers from her cunt with a wet suctioning sound and they traded places. Her legs were splayed out; Petyr settled between them. He took the fingers that had just been inside her into his mouth, laving them, drinking down her essence. When he had finished, he moved her fingers back to her cunt.

Alayne was glassy-eyed, slack-jawed, and close to falling apart. His cock rubbed against the sheets, and he wished he were inside her. Soon. Her fingers began to move again; his tongue joined them, and her hips writhed, straining to get closer to his mouth. Petyr felt her thighs tense around his head, he bit down lightly on her clit, and she shattered.

There was no screaming, just a short, sob-like exhale. He was also short of breath and panted against her thigh as she came down. Alayne passed her hand over his hair, then let it rest next to his head. Silence filled the room again, and though he was reluctant to break it, his own needs were becoming more pressing.

Petyr eased himself up her body, resting his naked chest on hers. “You taste delicious, Alayne. You really have been fucking nothing but idiots if none of them ever bothered to taste you, to feel you come apart beneath their mouths.”

The redness in her cheeks was a byproduct of their exertions, but she still shied a little, “I don’t—I don’t spend time with them. This is only the second time that someone has paid for an hour. Normally, I just do half-hours and blowjobs.”

“Hmm, their loss.” He thrust his hips against hers, reminding her that their night was far from over. “I think you need to get those condoms now, Alayne.”

She nodded, and he let her scramble off the bed, admiring her backside as she dashed to the bathroom. She returned with several foil packets, and he cocked an eyebrow at her, “Feeling more optimistic about my stamina, my dear?”

That garnered him a genuine smile, “Well, you’ve managed to last this long.” He gave her a smirk of his own and stretched out on the bed, beckoning her closer. Alayne dropped the packets on the bedside table, keeping one in hand, as she climbed back on the bed. Petyr gestured at his lap, indicating that she should straddle him. She did so gingerly.

“I take it that this is a first for you as well, being on top.” Alayne nodded, but she rolled the condom on him expertly enough, and he hissed at the feeling of her fingers finally touching his cock.

However, she appeared to be at a loss as to how to continue. He grasped her hips and rolled his upwards, his cock sliding through her slickness; a tiny huff escaped her. A word of instruction might be necessary, “I imagine it will go something like that. Take my cock in your hand, hold it steady while you sink down.”

She followed his directions and he swore out loud when he felt her heat envelope him, “ _Fuck_ , you’re tight!”

“What, nothing—ah!—smart to say about how many men I’ve fucked? Ah!” She was fully seated and she looked like a goddess perched on top of him. “Not a word, my dear. You feel amazing!”

Petyr allowed himself a moment to become accustomed to how her cunt felt wrapped around his cock, but the moment passed and he needed more. “Ungh, you have to move, Alayne!”

“How?”

“Rock, uh, rock back and forth!”

“Like this?”

She rocked on him slowly, grinding her hips down while he thrust up. Slowly, they found a rhythm that had them both gasping for breath. It was becoming too much for him, he was too close to the edge. His hands were tight on her hips, his fingers digging into her buttocks, dragging her down and towards him with every thrust. “I’m close! Just a bit more, _Petyr_!”

Hearing his name from her lips had him thrusting up, hard. Petyr moved a hand from her hip and began rubbing at her clit frantically. She had to come before him; she had to! He felt her cunt clench around his cock, and she shuddered. Alayne’s motions faltered and she collapsed around him; her hair fell in a fiery curtain, and her hard nipples brushed across his chest.

Petyr looked into her eyes, “Alayne!”

She focused on him, breath hiccupping out of her mouth.

“Alayne, I want your mouth! Let me ki—”

Her mouth on his cut the words off, and he groaned in relief as she sucked on his tongue. They strained against each other, fighting for their release. Alayne broke first and bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood. The pain shot down to his cock and he held her to him as he shot his cum into the condom.

She sprawled across him, the sweat cooling on her skin. She shivered, prompting him to roll her off of him and reach for the covers. Petyr slid out of the bed and tucked her in before disposing of the condom. She looked perfect in her repletion, and strangely familiar. He shook off the sensation and climbed into the bed next to her, needing to rest before he took her again.

* * *

 

A few hours later, they lay panting in the bunched up sheets, trying to recover their breath. His time with he was almost up. The realization panicked him, and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, “I want to see you again.”

Alayne’s eyes went wide, her mouthing forming what he was sure would be an answer in the negative; he forestalled her, “I’ll pay the same rate! 1500 per night, five hours of your time.”

The offer gave her pause, and she finally nodded her assent. The knot of tension in his belly eased; this wasn’t the end, he would have more time with her. “When will you be free?”

She was reluctant to answer, which brought back a sliver of panic, but she finally said, “Same night, same time.”

“Perfect.” It was a relief, he could let her go, knowing that he would have her again.Alayne broke through his thoughts by leaving the bed. “Could you call me that cab while I get cleaned up?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” She disappeared into the bathroom.

Petyr lay in the bed for another minute before hauling himself out and getting dressed. When the bathroom door opened, he was on the phone with a cab company, arranging for her ride back to Flea Bottom. He ended the call and they stared at each other awkwardly.

Petyr ended their silent contest, “Your cab should be here shortly. Would you like for me to wait with you?”

Alayne shook her head, “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Very well.” He counted out a few more bill and placed them on the table. “Next week?” He confirmed.

“Yeah, next week.”

Another silent stare passed between them; again, he was the first to break. Petyr shook his head at her ruefully, “Till then, Alayne.”

He left her there, in that room stinking of their passion, feeling like an old fool. However, that feeling would not prevent him from seeing her again. He would continue to indulge in her luscious body, unraveling the mysteries that lay at the heart of her. She would be a fitting distraction while he played his game of revenge.


End file.
